


At his feet

by Anderseeds



Series: Hellsing works [6]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Come Eating, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Read the A/N for warnings, Reference to historical degeneracy, Sexual Slavery, Some Kind Of Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Anderseeds
Summary: Vlad had never been interested in purchasing a slave for intimate purposes. Until he came upon a glowering, blood-streaked man while passing through the slave market, that was.Vlad buys himself company for his chambers.
Relationships: Alucard/Alexander Anderson
Series: Hellsing works [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622206
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105





	At his feet

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up: I don's shy away from Vlad being an awful human being in this fic, so his sordid past of impaling people, sexual torture, and general sadism is referenced. Nothing is particularly explicit, but you know... it's there. 
> 
> In regard to his interaction with Anderson, while Anderson is consenting and demonstrates interest in sexual activity with Vlad, it's still very dubious.
> 
> Tread carefully!

Vlad had never been interested in purchasing a slave for intimate purposes. Until he came upon a glowering, blood-streaked man while passing through the slave market, that was. He was sitting on scuffed knees in a sturdy steel cage. He was the only one among the selections to have required confinement, which was perhaps why he hadn’t yet been purchased despite being desirably tall, muscular, and healthy-looking. Suitable for hard labour. The other captives were largely restrained through the threat of harm and occasionally metal or rope.

Dust rose up and coiled around Vlad's ankles as he came to a stop before the cage, peering down at the specimen inside. The only thing he had on were some cotton underthings, the white fabric stark against dusty olive skin. The callouses on the mans hands and the scars littering his body suggested him a soldier, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the ragged, bloodied state of him and the evidence of a scuffle on his captor- a scuffle that hadn’t left only the slave with injuries. Those bright green eyes, full of malice, brought a smile of Vlad’s face. Those were the loveliest green eyes Vlad had ever seen.

He examined the slave for a moment longer before turning to the captor, who regarded him nervously, clearly aware of who he was. Vlad made no effort to hide himself while among his people. He had no reason to. They feared him; respected him; wouldn’t so much as touch a golden chalice he’d left in the middle of a city simply because he’d instructed them not to, so he was comfortable roaming these streets in a way he never had been prior to becoming Voivode.

“Where did you get him?” he asked, voice genial. That seemed to ease the slavers anxiety. “Oh, plucked him off a battlefield,” said the slaver, raising a shoulder in a shrug. “He was in a bad way a few days ago. I think he fought off a group of men single-handed and got stabbed in the stomach in the process. Wasn’t sure he’d pull through, but he did, so here he is.” He inclined his head toward the cage. “I kept him alive, so this is how he’s going to repay me.”

“Slimy, lying bastard,” said the man, his voice carrying the pleasant lilt of a Roman. From his queer appearance, Vlad had suspected he might not be a native of Wallachia, and there was his confirmation. He was going to have to ask from what province he hailed.

“Not well trained, is he,” said Vlad with audible amusement. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you,” he added while inclining his head toward the nasty gash on the man’s throat, which looked to have been inflicted with nails.

“Not through lack of trying,” the slaver replied, scoffing. “But,“ he added quickly. “If anyone can train him, you can, beloved leader, and no doubt he’d be perfect for any hard labour you put him to. He’d make for an effective gold miner.”

‘Beloved leader’. That was a new one, and he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. Certainly more flattering than ‘Vlad the Impaler’.

“Your name,” he said, glancing down at the Roman, who glared up at him. The slaver almost replied with his own before realising who Vlad was actually addressing.

“I didn’t think slaves had names,” the Roman shot back.

“I can come up with something for you, if you aren’t willing to provide one.” Vlad idly stroked his chin, brushing his thumb across the bristles there. “But I don’t think you’d enjoy it, having to learn to accommodate a new name, and I wouldn’t be inclined to allow you to have your old one if you denied me at this time.”

The Roman’s lips thinned, his brow developing a deep rivet. And then he said, “Alexander Anderson. Father Anderson, generally.”

“Father.” Vlad cocked an eyebrow, casting it between Anderson and the slaver. “You’re a priest?”

“I-I didn’t know that,” said the slaver in a stutter. “I swear I didn’t know, beloved leader-!”

He held up a hand to stop further interruption. “Hush.” They’d been found on the battlefield, so clearly he wasn’t just a priest, and that made all the difference. “Priests take a vow of non-violence. Why were you found on the battlefield?”

Anderson carefully arranged his legs so they were crossed before responding, though there wasn’t enough room in the cage for him to get properly comfortable. “I was a soldier prior to becoming a priest, and when it was requested I return to the battlefield to protect civilians from an onslaught of Turks, I obliged. I do not regret breaking my vow. It was for a worthy cause.”

A priest and a soldier. The castle had been quite as of late, so Vlad would be glad to have such an interesting man for company. A presence in the bedroom that could regale him with tales of a holy man and a soldier would liven things up a little. And if he was particularly well-behaved, Vlad might even have him participate in doling out some of the sentences he inflicted on sinners. Seemed an appropriate role for a priest with a history in combat. Of course, being a priest meant he was likely chaste, untouched- or relatively so, which meant Vlad may have himself a virgin to indulge in. They were so rare among his age group. He was going to have to ask after his exact sexual history. 

He spared a moment to sweep his gaze over that sunkissed skin before returning his attention to the slaver. “What price were you hoping to fetch for him?”

“Oh, um.” The slaver twiddled his fingers together and bit at his bottom lip. The sight reminded Vlad of a rat. “Whatever price you think is appropriate will be fine by me, beloved leader.”

“Even if it’s a pittance?” asked Vlad.

By the slavers face, it was clear he’d been hoping the Voivode would be generous in emptying his pockets, but he still gave a short, jerky nod of assent. Vlad almost laughed at how poorly he concealed his disappointment.

“Hold out your hand then,” he said, reaching for the pouch of ducats attached to his belt. He’d gone out today with the intention to peruse rather than buy, but he always kept coin on hand in case something caught his eye. Most civilians would give him whatever he wished for free, and that was fair, seeing as he owned this land, but he could be a generous man.

The man extended one thin, dirty-nailed hand with a quivering smile. Vlad loathed to do it, but he wrapped his fingers around the man’s filthy wrist while placing several small ducats on the crease of his palm. That, too, had dirt in it. The slave was covered in blood and he still managed to be cleaner. “Three gold ducats. Pocket change for me, but I imagine that’s a lot for you.”

The slaver’s broad grin made that evident.

“I see it is. Fantastic.”

Vlad didn’t release his wrist. Instead he made a flourishing gesture at his surroundings, and several men wearing commoners cloaks emerged from the crowds. Vlad’s guards. He never went anywhere without them, even if he was comfortable among his people. Enemy infiltration wasn’t impossible even in as carefully maintained a city as his, so only a fool of a prince would venture out without reinforcements.

“Escort Alexander Anderson – the one in the cage – to my chambers. Have him bathed and clothed in the appropriate attire before I get there.” The men hurried to fulfil their Voivode's orders. “As for this man,” he continued, yanking the slaver into the grip of a nearby guard. “Take him to the dungeons and have him erected near the dining chamber, so I can see him.”

The slaver balked and attempted to squirm free of the hands working handcuffs onto him. “Wait, please!” he cried. “Be-beloved leader, what did I do-!?”

“Don’t worry,” said Vlad, manually closing the man’s fingers so they were held tight against his palm. “You’ll get to keep the ducats you earned through your deceit.”

A cackle rose up from the cage. Vlad turned to the priest, and Anderson looked all too pleased while he was being guided away from the scene of his panicking captor. Not very Christian-like, was he? But Vlad found it intriguing rather than off-putting.

“Make sure he keeps a hold of those,” said Vlad, gesturing to the ducats, and with one final, appreciative look at the slavers petrified face, he turned to finish his perusing of the market. As eager as he was to return to his castle and indulge in his latest purchase, he knew it would be some time before the chambermaids were done preparing him. He didn’t want to rush them, particularly as it was likely some time since Anderson had been able to bathe. Vlad hadn’t gotten close enough to smell him, and he suspected that had been a wise choice.

He was richer a green gown and an intricate, bronze phallus when he arrived in his castle foyer. The phallus was, of course, stowed in his cloak, well out of sight. He wouldn’t want his staff to get the wrong idea.

Once he’d received confirmation Anderson had been bathed and dressed (as well as been given a manicure, shaved, and had his hair trimmed, because his workers always went the extra mile for him), he started up the stairs for his chambers, the thunk of his boots echoing throughout the halls. He passed his outer layer, boots, and the newly purchased gown off to a chambermaid before entering his room. She scurried off to have them cleaned and laundered, as was customary.

His gaze fell upon the figure kneeling on the floor beside his bed the moment he was inside. And what a fine figure Anderson made with his well-defined abdominals, prominent pecs, strong thighs and pert dusty nipples on display. It was much easier to appreciate his assets without bars in the way. The ladies had put him in little more than a short, sheer braies, so almost nothing was spared Vlad’s hungry gaze. The ladies had shorn away everything but a smattering of soft, springy hairs on his chin, chest, and navel. He’d never had a sex slave before, but his staff did have an approximation of his preferences from the sordid things that had gone on in his dungeons some years ago. They were responsible for preparation and clean-up of prisoners he held particular ire for. Who were, of course, usually Turks.

The thick, brownish scars on Anderson's stomach and cheek didn’t detract from his beauty at all. Nor did the other, thinner, whiter scars he must have received from the battles of his youth. If anything, they made him look even more appealing.

Those lovely eyes of his hadn’t lost any of their malice. Even as tense and nervous as he appeared, he continued to eye Vlad like he’d concocted a hundred ways to dispatch him if Vlad did something he didn’t like. And probably had done exactly that. After what he had seen in the markets, it would be stupid to doubt his capacity for violence.

Vlad crossed the room to seat himself on the edge of his bed. Its size could have accommodated five bodies if everyone squeezed in, so there were a great many places he could sit himself, but he chose to sit directly beside Anderson, so his knee brushed Anderson’s shoulder. The man looked up at him. A frown marred his handsome features.

“This isn’t what I thought you had in mind when you bought me,” he said, which was startlingly bold of him. Not many people spoke to Vlad the Impaler in such an impertinent manner. If Vlad hadn’t taken such a liking to him, he probably would have had him erected beside the slaver for his cheek.

“I have enough toilers.” After setting the phallus on the bedside table, Vlad reached over to set his fingers light upon Anderson’s shoulder, who jolted, but didn’t try to move away. “It’s been some time since I’ve had intimate company, particularly with a man, and it would be pleasant not to have to concern myself with siring further bastards.” Such practice were encouraged of royalty to sustain bloodlines, particularly if ones spot on the throne was as tenuous as Vlad’s, but he’d always approached such intimacy in a perfunctory manner. There was no need for passion in proliferation. He held little genuine interest for his mistresses, and rarely did he invite them to live inside his castle.

Anderson turned his face away. “There is a rumour in the church that you practice foul sodomy with your prisoners.”

Vlad smiled. “I have the church’s blessing to forge fear however I please, among other things.” He idled his hand up the side of Anderson’s neck, feeling out the straining tendon there. “I have no interest in dirtying myself with Turk prisoners, in any case. I simply have them do it themselves, then dole out the appropriate punishment.”

Anderson’s jaw visibly tightened. “Then what’s this supposed to be?”

“Relationships are not acceptable. Relieving oneself with a man is, among certain classes.” He withdrew his hand and set it in his lap. “You must be a very chaste man to not know of this. When were you last intimate?”

Anderson took in a harsh breath. “Never.”

“Never?” asked Vlad, pleased.

“Never,” he said again, fisting his hands against his thighs. “I always wanted to be a priest, even as a soldier, so I abstained.”

“Entirely?”

“Entirely.”

It wasn’t often one came upon a priest who was truly chaste. Such things pleased Vlad, but his chastity didn’t chase away his desire to have the man seated upon his cock. While Vlad would permit him his title in private, if he so desired it, that life was behind him now, and had been behind him the moment he’d broken his vows by returning to the battlefield. His role now was to please his new master.

“Are you going to fight me?” he asked as he pulled his legs up onto the mattress, stretching himself out.

“No,” said Anderson, jaw tight. “I owe you my company. I will respect your generosity in purchasing such an undesirable as me.”

“There’s nothing undesirable about you,” said Vlad. “Your shrewdness makes you even more so.”

He gestured for Anderson to rise, and after a moments hesitation, Anderson clambered to his feet with his hands hanging loose over his crotch to provide him some decency.

“Remove your hands and lower the braies, Anderson. Your modesty has no place here.”

Slowly, with clear reluctance, Anderson moved his hands away and to the waistband of his undergarments, slowly unwinding the silk belt and letting the material pool at his ankles. His face turned a delectable shade of red as his cock was unveiled. It was appropriately sized for a man his height, long and thick, with a pretty pink head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” asked Vlad.

Anderson pursed his lips. “I try not to.”

“Sit on the end of the bed and touch yourself for me. We will continue our talk while you do.” He made a flourishing gesture toward the end of the mattress before speaking again. “I’d like to know from where exactly you hail, and what your role in the church was.”

Legs trembling faintly, Anderson weight dipped the end of the mattress as he knelt there with his legs spread, cock and balls hanging heavy between them. He’d stirred despite his discomfiture. Slightly hard and red, so perhaps he was more interested than he let on. He might even be genuinely attracted to Vlad, by the way he was eyeing Vlad as he curled a fist around the base of his cock.

A little gasp flittered out from between his lips at the contact. Even if Vlad hadn’t dragged out the status of his chastity, he probably would have been able to glean that information from how very sensitive he was.

“Speak,” Vlad instructed.

“I’m-“ Anderson took a shivering breath. “I’m from central Rome. I fulfilled typical priest duties and assisted in the rearing of children.”

“Central Rome.” He must have been well regarded then. “What did your brothers think of you returning to the life of a soldier?”

“They supported me,” said Anderson, swallowing as he stroked himself. It hadn’t taken him long to get himself hard. “The ones closest to me, at least. The church allowed me to leave in the knowledge I would be forfeiting my position in the hierarchy by doing so.”

“Are you still a priest, then?” asked Vlad, regarding Anderson’s moving hand with half-lidded eyes. The way his thighs quivered with each downward stroke of his cock had Vlad’s blood boiling. It wouldn’t be long before he, too, was hard, and he had an idea or two of how he could satisfy himself without overwhelming the priest.

“Yes,” Anderson breathed. “Still a priest. A lowly one.”

“You’ve fallen further.” Vlad let his legs fall apart, his bulge on display. He smiled at the shy way Anderson’s gaze fell upon it before flying off to the side.

“Perhaps through your grace,” Anderson murmured. “I’ll be able to draw myself back up.”

“Perhaps,” said Vlad. He could be charitable, particularly toward fellow Christian’s. But for the moment, Vlad had no interest in releasing Anderson. He wanted to fuck him to exhaustion; fuck him in front of his prisoners; have his lips wrapped around his cock while he worked at his desk; shove a phallus up as ass and have him perform maid duties throughout the day, and he couldn’t say with any certainty when his interest in using the man for his pleasure would finally wane. It would be unkind to suggest it would be anytime soon, and Vlad wasn’t always an unkind man. He was willing to take things slow, but he wasn’t willing to forfeit use of the man altogether.

“Sit back,” he instructed. “Let me see your hole.”

Anderson’s already flushed face turned a furious red as he moved to obey Vlad’s request. Raising his legs either side of himself, he stretched his thighs apart and pressed his toes into the mattress, displaying the small, pink furl between the ample rise of his ass. It didn’t look like it could fit a cock in it at all. Too small, too tight; he’d tear the man by shoving himself in there, but Vlad was not deterred by that thought. If the man could survive stab wounds, he could survive being impaled on Vlad’s cock.

The hand on Anderson’s cock didn’t cease in its stroking even once. For all his hostility, the man was very good at taking orders.

Vlad reached over and uncovered the phallus from the market. He’d cleaned it before taking it home, of course, so Anderson didn’t need fear getting anything unpleasant in his unmentionables. The man’s gaze alighted upon it, and as was often his wont, he was quick to divert his eyes.

“When I do get around to fucking you,” he began, tracing the tips of his fingers over the cool bronze. It was very intricately decorated, with all the appropriate details for a cock. He particularly enjoyed the vein snaking out across the underside of the phallus. “I’m going to put this in you while you sleep, so you’ll be loose for me come morning.”

Judging by the pre-come that rose on Anderson’s cock, this idea wasn’t entirely unappealing. He avoided Vlad’s eye, chin sitting on his clavicle, ostensibly so he could watch his hand work, but Vlad knew it was more likely that he was ashamed for getting aroused by what Vlad was saying to him. For a priest, it must have been mortifying.

“Have you thought about lying with a man before, priest?” he asked, and while Anderson didn’t answer, his tensing told Vlad enough. Vlad grinned. “Well, this is convenient, then.”

“I never gave into those thoughts,” he protested, shakily. “I never partook in sodomy. Never.”

“You needn’t be ashamed.” Vlad idled a thumb over the swell of his trousers while he watched Anderson’s cock twitch with impending orgasm. “Not with me, and not about this. Here, you are simply fulfilling your duty as my concubine; you are not indulging in sin.” He slipped his fingers beneath his waistband, seeking to free his arousal. With how intently he was staring at Anderson, it didn’t evade his notice that the man tentatively watched him do this. “I decimate the Turks in the name of our God, for the descent of Jerusalem, and you’re to keep me comfortable in the meantime. To keep one of God’s greatest warriors satiated is not, I think, such a terrible role for a priest to have.”

Anderson gave a stiff nod. Being on the precipice of orgasm seemed to have stolen his voice.

“That’s right,” Vlad murmured, distracted now by drawing his cock out into the cool, evening air. It was already just as rigid as Anderson’s. He stroked it languidly while watching the man. “You’ll be serving a higher purpose by warming my cock. Every time I bend you over and stretch you open, every time I pry open your jaw and slide my cock into your throat, you’ll be doing the Holy Land a service.”

It probably wasn’t coincidental that Anderson came after hearing these words. On top of an interest in sodomy, apparently he liked being told that he was to be used. What an unprecedented pleasure this man was. When he’d picked him up at the market, he’d never imagined he’d receive such a perfect receptacle for his lust.

Thick, white strings of seed spilled into Anderson’s hand, slipping between his fingers and onto his leg before he could think to close them. Vlad didn’t chastise him for making a mess. He was too taken by the sight of that stark white sliding down the curve of Anderson’s thigh. He didn’t even mind when it sullied his clean bed sheets.

Anderson trembled throughout the aftershocks of his finish. Sweat clung to his neck and chest and trailed down from his hairline. His thighs were quivering. That fine, pink furl of his entrance had clenched throughout his climax, and it was only a good minute after his finish that it started to relax. Vlad outright groaned at the thought of having Anderson's ass clench reflexively while he was buried deep inside it. But he had to be patient. He’d already promised he would take things slow and throwing the man onto his stomach so he could fuck him into the sheets was the exact opposite of that.

“Come over here,” he said, voice uncharacteristically tremulous. One couldn’t be blamed for a little weakness after witnessing such a display. “Crawl across the bed to me.”

With some difficulty due to his trembling legs, Anderson did as he was told, dragging himself in small increments over to Vlad. He gave a thick, wet swallow as he settled between Vlad’s calves, looking to him for further instructions. Vlad was more than happy to provide them.

“Open your mouth,” he said, and when Anderson did, he fisted a hand into Anderson’s hair and dragged him down between his legs. Not completely. Not far enough to shove his cock into Anderson’s throat, as tempting as that was, but enough that he could feel Anderson’s breaths ghosting over the leathery head of his cock. Vlad held him firmly in place while he continued to stroke himself.

“I want you to drink every drop I give you.” The very thought of that nearly had him coming right there and then. He held back. He wanted to draw this out, enjoy the sight of Anderson sitting dutifully between his legs with his mouth wide open in preparation for his seed. His hand was still fisted around his own spill, and Vlad noted distantly to give him something to clean that up with later.

“Every drop,” he continued in a mumble. “Every time I use your mouth, you’re to drink it all. I don’t want to have a mess to clean up and your tongue is perfectly functional as a cloth.” The fingers in Anderson’s hair lightly scraped over Anderson’s scalp, stroking him approvingly. “I may try something similar with your ass. Perhaps the phallus could keep my seed in, bring a nice swell to your stomach. I wonder how many times I would need to come in you to achieve that.”

Anderson shivered, a helpless little groan slipping from his throat. In the position he was in, he couldn’t stifle the interest in what he was hearing.

“And your vows ensure you're mine, and mine alone. Just for me.” He stroked his thumb over the ridge of his cock, sending pleasant little shocks through the length of it. “Should you ever leave my service, you will maintain those vows until your dying breath.” It wasn’t an instruction, nor a suggestion; it was a fact, and one Vlad could easily enforce. He had no patience for infidelity.

As he currently hadn’t use of his voice, Anderson’s response came in the form of a low, rumbling hum of assent, which was a sound that had Vlad’s thighs tensing through a surge of arousal. As much as he’d like to draw this out for the rest of the evening, he didn’t expect he was going to be able to hold on that long. Not with Anderson being so very good at his role. He languished into the plush pillows behind him and turned his attention to reaching his finish. Enough had been said. He was satisfied- at least for the time being. There would be ample opportunities in the future to satiate his libido on this delightful man. He was Vlad’s now, after all. For as long as Vlad wished to have him, and after tonight's display, he expected that to be for some time.

He curled his fingers tight around Anderson’s hair to drag him down when he felt his orgasm peaking. A groan spilled from his lips as long pearly white strings splashed into Anderson’s mouth and upon his lips and chin, dribbling down into the hands Anderson had cupped below to catch the stray droplets. Just as Vlad had instructed, he licked up every drop, laving his tongue over his fingers. While he didn’t appear to enjoy the taste, Vlad could see his cock stirring with every swallow. He kept a firm hold of his hair throughout, painfully tight because he enjoyed the feel of Anderson’s hair caught between his fingers.

Once finished, Anderson kept his face down, eyes on the bed sheets, clearly embarrassed. Vlad enjoyed that, the coyness. He unwound his hand from Anderson’s hair to slide his knuckles along Anderson’s cheek. Comparatively cool, so the contact elicited a short gasp of a breath from Anderson, who glanced up at him inquisitively.

“You did well for your first time,” he told Anderson, idly stroking his cheek. “Quite an aptitude for following orders.”

“I am a priest,” said Anderson quietly. “I’ve been following orders my entire life.”

“Not ones of this nature.”

“No,” Anderson agreed, swallowing thickly. “Not ones like this.” He folded his hands over his lap to cover his stirring cock. “But I am a man of my word, and I gave you my word that I would serve you.”

“That you did.” Vlad let his fingers drop to Anderson’s clavicle, idly tracing them along it. “Would you like to hear what I had done to the man who deceived you?”

A smile played at Anderson’s lips. “If our beloved leader feels so inclined,” he said wryly.

“He does,” said Vlad, reaching across to the bedside table to grab a cloth for Anderson to clean his fingers with – then realising Anderson had licked his own spill up as well. He took a short, highly aroused breath and settled back into the mattress. “Do you know how impalement is done?”

“I don’t.” Anderson sat back on his haunches. “Hanging was the standard when I was a soldier, and I saw little violence as a priest.”

“Well,” began Vlad. “Traditionally a stake a few heads taller than the individual is prepared, with the tip shaved to a dull point, so to keep the subject alive longer. If my men are cautious, as they often are, I expect he will live for the rest of the day, if not several.” Vlad drew Anderson closer, guiding him to lie down atop his chest. He then pulled the blankets up and draped them over their waists. “I expect the men will have sown his hand shut around the ducats given to him so he won’t drop them. I thought that rather poetic irony.”

“That it is.” Anderson lay stiffly upon him, at first, before slowly starting to settle. “The man plucked wounded men off battlefields, gave them the bare minimum to survive, and then drugged and sold them. He earned his messy end.”

“You weren’t the first?” asked Vlad, eyebrow cocked.

“He made sure to tell me he’d done this numerous times.” Anderson pursed his lips. “And if the men died, apparently he had people willing to pay for that as well.” He rolled onto his side, fingers grazing the small, puckered wound on his stomach. It still had some time before it would be fully healed, so the man mustn't have kept him long. “I was fine, in any case. Just a shallow wound, and then he put something in my drink after lying about being a medic.”

“I’ll enjoy seeing him from my dining room window,” Vlad murmured. Anderson didn’t comment on that. He expected, like most people, he didn't fancy seeing corpses as he ate, which was a shame as they seemed like-minded in many other ways. Vlad’s mistresses hadn’t much liked the sight of them either. His last one had been particularly squeamish, which had led him to sending her away after a few months of her turning ashen every time they passed a body. His companions needed to have a stomach for such things. He was a war lord, after all.

“Dinner will be ready soon," Vlad said, closing his eyes and spreading his legs out on either side of Anderson, making himself comfortable. “But we have some time to rest, until then. Lie with me.” He guided Anderson's head to sit on his chest, running his fingers idly through his hair.

“Forgive my ignorance, but I'm... not sure what I'm supposed to refer to you as for the duration of this arrangement,” said Anderson. "It's not 'beloved leader', is it...?"

“It's master, of course,” said Vlad, amused by the question. “Say it, Anderson.”

Anderson paused, then said, “Master.”

Oh, that was arousing. But they had the potential to be interrupted if he sought further intimacy, so he persuaded himself to wait until after dinner. Maybe he’d get Anderson to kneel on the floor and call him master while getting off. That would be a nice, mellowing activity before he addressed his paperwork.

“You say it so well.” He smiled and curled down, pressing a kiss into Anderson’s hair. “You’re going to be so good for me, Anderson.”


End file.
